


Fortuna

by WallyWillyWalter



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Other, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Prose Poem, idk it reads sad but i meant it to be hopeful, mcd by ash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 23:19:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14603913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WallyWillyWalter/pseuds/WallyWillyWalter
Summary: The inspiration for the poem.





	Fortuna

Oh, Fortuna, can you hear our call?

The thing with galactic war is that it all boils down to probability. Who is the most probable victor? What is the most probable outcome? What is the most probable solution? 

The thing with probability is that it's a flawed game. 

From a galactic perspective, it’s easy to see the moment that a Nomad drags his war-weary fingers through the ash of the most loyal Commando. It’s easy to see this act ripple across the galaxy to the man made of iron, marooned on a dead planet twice cursed by a false god. How the abandoned son cradles his palm, holding softly the ash of future dreams. 

These are the obvious losses of war. The orphan children so ready to fight for something they never had. The lost children who discovered that home is a person, not a place. The warriors so loyal that their cause becomes them. All these souls are soldiers in their own right. 

But probability is a flawed concept. It cannot be applied on a galactic scale. War is for lovers just as much as it is for fighters. To fight for something you must be capable of loving something first. 

But love? Love does not fight fair. 

Death becomes us all. It's an inevitable consequence of life. But for Earth's mightiest heroes? What life have they lived? What consequence has gone unpaid? What love have they lost? Has not the monster raged? Has not the servant sacrificed? 

Empires fall. These are the consequences of war. But what of the other effects? Never have scepters obtained calm peace or certain tenure.

The unseen consequences of men playing god aren’t first seen. It's felt. It's felt in the absence of what was once there. It's felt in the cuts that run deep. 

The first wound to be felt is the soldiers, of course. The most obvious of loss. 

But what of the secondary effects? The second wound to be felt is the civilians who knew not what risk was at stake. The child, too young, who sits in their parent's dust. The teachers crying head counts at empty desk. The lovers, clung together, and then not. The same refugees who through calculated actions have already paid this cost forced again to dwindle. 

These are the secondary cost of war. 

Who lives? Who dies? 

Who survives only to die result of someone else's death? If a motor is traveling at a constant speed does that object not still move? 

These are the unintended cost. Great kingdoms sink of their own weight.

When a man pretending to be a god believes half is the solution, the fallacy lies in the thoughts. 

Half is never correct. It can never be half. 

When it comes to what has happened here? 

Oh, Fortuna, our low has been brought. A snap, crisply intent on a set number. On an ideal poorly believed. 

Just numbers. 

50% 

But no. It can never be half. 

75%. 

Does the mother now grasp an empty womb which was once full? Does the patient now lay open and exposed and alone? These are the unseen circumstances of civilization in ruin. 

When the gatekeeper is removed, buildings fall. Networks cease. Thought stops. 

Death begets death begets death. 

Stars die. 

Storms fall. 

Oh, Fortuna, can you hear us? 

Time stops. 

Space becomes empty with the loss.

And time watches. Always watching. And waits. 

The metal man, forced by the bionic girl, begins the long odyssey home. The rejected soldier, once again alone, gathers the remainder of his troops. 

Thunder rolls. Lightning strikes. 

Who will save us now? When the reality that exists has become so dark, who will save us now? 

But the Mad Titan did not account for a simple mistake. 

Time is a construct. 

And constructs? Constructs can be changed. 

For try, as you like, a soul cannot be bought.

**Author's Note:**

> [The inspiration for the poem. ](https://www.tor.com/2018/05/08/thanos-snap-avengers-infinity-war/?utm_source=exacttarget&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=tordotcom-tordotcomnewsletter&utm_content=na-readblog-blogpost&utm_campaign=tor)


End file.
